


Just Another Experiment Protocol

by BillieJ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Experimentation, First Time, M/M, Virgin Sherlock, almost pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillieJ/pseuds/BillieJ
Summary: “So you seem to be actually helpful with this. What do you suggest for an Experiment Protocol ?”John bit his lower lip.“I’m not sure. What’s the hypothesis ?”“Will practising BDSM as a submissive help even out my mental state ?”John’s brows furrowed.“What are the features of the referencial state ?”Sherlock smiled. John was actually helping.A steamy piece, almost PWP if you don't mind





	Just Another Experiment Protocol

It had all started with yet another case.

 

“You don’t get it ! Don’t play almighty when you don’t know shit ! Fuck you !”

“That is quite a lot of profanities,” had said Sherlock, “perhaps you should consider washing that -”

“FUCK YOU !”

 

Sherlock had been taken aback for a minute. Nothing in his data explained such a reaction to him being right. Not that people enjoyed it when he “deduced” them, but it was usually a wince, and an occasional “freak” thrown at him. That man was downright furious.

 

“-filthy mouth of yours. Or you could explain what I supposedly haven’t understood.”

 

He vaguely remembered Lestrade looking startled and John tensing up a bit.

 

“You could never get it.”

“I most probably can, you know, I am a genius. I understand you are as well, professor.”

 

The man, Professor Harry Pierce, had laughed. It was a dry and ugly laugh that made his skin crawl.

 

“All of them, they thought they could understand. I am a fucking genius too, asshole, I can do things with numbers no one can. But being that kind, that  _ one-of-a-kind _ kind of person doesn’t come alone. T-t-t-t-t-t. They say geniuses are crazy. I beg to differ, we are just extreme. On edge. Anything we do is over-the-top : boring is unbearable, exciting is exhilarating and exhilarating is off the fucking normal-human record.”

 

There was a heavy silence and Sherlock could feel his friends’ eyes on him. He visibly swallowed, nervous.

 

“Drugs are okay for a while, but they hurt too much, kill to fast. As for healthy stimulations there are never enough puzzles, equations, never enough normal stuff to keep us even. So I found something. Sex. Rough sex. Submitting. Best fucking experience of my life, when done right. I always explained my quirks, always, so what could I have done when he didn’t respect my boundaries ?”

“Not kill him ?” asked Sherlock.

 

Harry Pierce, broken, laughed again, this time tears streaming down his face. 

 

“So I wasn’t supposed to defend myself when I was raped ?”

 

Sherlock’s lips pursed into a thin line. Lestrade looked a bit pale and John didn’t move one bit, as if turned into a statue.

 

“I believe I am done here. Let’s go John.”

 

* * *

 

They had went back to 221B Baker Street without a sound and he had went into his room directly and for the night. He could hear, all evening, John wandering and fumbling in the living-room, in the kitchen, back and forth with a cup of tea or not.

Eventually, around midnight he went to bed. 

  
Sherlock hadn’t slept at all. Had tried not to think. Eventually, he supposed, he would have to process these new bits of information.

 

> Basic premise : he is a genius and experiences the same kind of mental instability Harry Pierce does. 
> 
> Evidence One : he is an addict.
> 
> Evidence Two : he doesn’t seem to be able to keep any normal relationship with anyone. 

 

That was for sure. No matter what, at least Sherlock knew that much about himself.

 

> Basic premise : Rough sex helps with said mental instability.
> 
> Evidence One : Harry Pierce had quit drugs for three years and had properly gotten married. Out of love.
> 
> Counter-Evidence : Harry Pierce had killed his sexual partner.

 

Scratch that. 

 

There was no real link between Harry Pierce’s sexual practises and how they helped him, and the murder. He had killed out of self-defense, and would have regardless of the kind of practises he was engaging in. 

However, those actual practises had really kept him even-minded for years.

> Conclusion : he was in need of an Experimental Protocol.

 

Sherlock swallowed with difficulty. 

He had this well established routine for whenever he came across a new information : Premise, Evidence, Experiment (and no, the anagram didn’t say “PEE”, John). 

It had worked fairly well with everything else, however, none of those things implied for him to get that personally involved in an Experiment, on such an intimate level.

 

He had researched sex of course, and all his documentation was in the “Human Coïtus” folder in his Mind Palace. He knew everything to know about sperm liquidity and smells, as well as all the lingerie and sex toys available on the market.

 

Of course, he had came across BDSM as well - how could he ever forget about Miss Adler ?- but never made this very simple connection, as to know if this practise would be suitable for him ?

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

 

He was not, of course. He got up, noiselessly and went into the living-room. His laptop was on his armchair.

 

Seated and excited, he typed his research and quickly became disenchanted. Apart from a Wikipedia page he already knew by heart and a bunch of articles commenting the insight of “50 Shades of Grey” on BDSM and various dating and porn sites, there was very little practical informations for him to design a suitable experiment, without needing a lot of digging up.

 

“I knew you weren’t asleep.”

 

Sherlock jumped like never before, closing the laptop shut in one jerky motion.

 

“John ?”

 

He had stayed seated up the stairs, never going into his room, just waiting for Sherlock to come out of his room.

 

Sherlock’s lips pursed and he ground his teeth. 

 

“You didn’t go to bed.” said Sherlock, uselessly.

“Obviously. You neither.”

“Obviously.”

 

They stared at each other for a while before smiling sheepishly. John sat in his armchair, putting his Union Jack pillow on his lap.

 

“What are you doing ?” he asked.

“Searching for an Experiment” Sherlock answered, almost automatically.

“Really ? More tobacco ashes types to file ?”

 

Sherlock made an impatient gesture, making John snort.

 

“Don’t be silly, John.”

 

They sat in silence for a while more.

John now had a serious look on his face.

 

“Tell me.”

 

Sherlock bit his lip. On the one hand, this was a seriously embarrassing situation, but on the other hand, John had never made fun of anything about him. John is a doctor,- Sherlock reminded himself - and his friend too. 

 

“I was looking up BDSM” he said, his voice as straight as he could manage.

“Right”, said John. “Is this case-motivated or are you really interested ?”

“The case is solved John.”

“Right” he repeated.

 

They sat in silence again for what seemed to be a full minute.

 

“You never actually…” started John, before shifting his position on the armchair, obviously uncomfortable. “You never really talk about this kind of stuff, I mean-”

“Because it’s usually irrelevant.”

“But are you…. I mean… did you...you know ?”

“Am I a virgin, is the question ?”

 

John sighed and nodded.

 

“Yes, I am.” he said, voice straight but cheeks flaming. “I don’t see how that’s relevant”

“Of course it is relevant !” he cried. “ That’s the most relevant thing about it !”

“How ?”

“What d’you mean, how ?”

“Well, if I am to design an experiment of suitability of BDSM practices on myself, how would my first-hand inexperience with classic intercourse have any repercussion on the results ?”

 

John did a fine imitation of a stunned fish. He recovered quickly and crossed his arms.

 

“If you are to do something like that, the first thing to consider is safety. Not just anyone can do it. You saw it with Pierce, Sherlock. These guys, they get off on domination, on submitting people, and they are not always sane. What will you do, do tell me, the day one random man or woman has you down on your knees, restrained, and does terrible things to you without your express consent ?”

 

Towards the end of his sentence, John’s voice was a mere grunt. Sherlock swallowed.

 

“Having ‘classic intercourse’ as you put it, at least teaches the basics of consent and normal sex  interactions with another breathing human. What you are seeking Sherlock, is another dynamic altogether, a dynamic that could result in you being crushed. Physically and mentally, crushed.”

“Or finally satisfied.” snapped Sherlock.

“Yes”, said John.

“So you seem to be actually helpful with this. What do you suggest for an Experiment Protocol ?”

 

John bit his lower lip.

 

“I’m not sure. What’s the hypothesis ?”

“Will practising BDSM as a submissive help even out my mental state ?”

 

John’s brows furrowed.

 

“What are the features of the referencial state ?”

 

Sherlock smiled. John was actually helping.

 

“The want to use, daily. I have a chart of how many times a day I want to, over there.” Sherlock motionned to his right, to a paper stack that looked good for garbage, hadn’t John known better. 

“Also, I have been made aware of how insufferable I can be, and how that’s related to me being a ‘ _ tortured genius _ ’ as Mummy puts it. I think people are just uselessly and obnoxiously stupid. Never needed a chart about that.”

 

John smirked. He knew better than to believe Sherlock’s every rants.

 

“I’ll set up a chart if you want. That’s two features we can record data on, during one week, as a referencial state.”

 

Sherlock nodded. His mouth felt horribly dry, and he was beginning to feel choked up.

 

“As for the phase of experimentation, I will do it.”

 

That’s what Sherlock had foreseen. A heat, both unbearable and terribly familiar was building below his navel.

 

“You don’t have to, I don’t need a pity-”

“Not a  _ pity fuck _ ” scowled John. “I want to. Okay, Sherlock ? I really want to. There’s no way I’m letting some weird person with a God-complex play with your mind.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t speak. He felt his cheeks burn hard, and he was truly choked up now.

 

“S-so how do you suggest we proceed ?” he says, his voice low.

“Do you... want to.. have normal i-intercourse first ?” stuttered John. “If you do this,  _ this way _ , it’ll be your first time…”

 

Sherlock reflected for a bit. He thought about his college years, when some of his classmates had offered. He thought about the disappointing kisses, the mortification, and he cringed. Eventually, he shook his head.

John nodded once, sharply.

 

“Okay then. Three scenes. One the first week, and two the following week. This way we will have insight on both absolute and relative aspects and frequency. I’ll make a chart you will have to fill in, for me to organize this. You absolutely have to fill it,  _ are we clear  _ ?”

 

If he wanted to make his voice sound that positively obscene, Sherlock did not know. But then, when he hadn’t even started the experiment, he could see this felt  _ right _ to him. Oh, it was dangerous. 

John was looking right at him. 

Usually, he rested on his armchair, sprawling with just his robes on, but that night, he felt impossibly shy. He was sitting in a foetal position, his chin on his knees.

 

“Yes” he said.

 

John sighed audibly. 

 

“Okay…. okay” he said, getting up. “That’s out of the way now. Let’s go to sleep, shall we ?”

 

_ Oh. _ Sherlock was never going to sleep again, or so it seemed.

 

* * *

 

The following day, was uneventful. Sherlock had wandered around all day in his robes, waiting for John to come back from the practise.

He eventually did, and as he heard him make the steps creak, Sherlock smiled imperceptibly. 

John flicked a paper in front of Sherlock, as he was eating cereal for dinner.

 

“Fill it.”

 

As his mouth was full of cereal and milk, Sherlock didn’t utter a word. 

He looked at that paper and saw what appeared to be a very exhausting list of BDSM practises. 

On the top of it was stated that he had to put a number going from 0 (Hard limit) to 5 (Would Do Every Time).

_ Bondage. Paraphilic infantilism. Spanking. Edgeplay. Torture. _

Sherlock swallowed with difficulty. Was he to say yes to those things, they  _ would _ happen to him, for sure. The thing was, he was not sure that he did  _ not _ want them to happen.

John put a pen in front of him. 

 

“Just fill it. If you’re not sure, fill anyway.”

“Well hello to you too”, ironized Sherlock.

 

John smiled lightly and went to the bathroom.

While the sound of flowing water filled the apartment, Sherlock eventually filled the sheet, deciding to do it all in one go, without thinking twice about his answers or he would never be sincere.

A mental survey of his answers analyzed by his psychological knowledge gave him that : he would love being cared for.

Anything about being restrained, fed, washed, treated like a baby really, even by his standards, including  _ Army _ and  _ Medical Role Plays, _ were a 5. 

Surprisingly, everything involving light pain, like  _ Spanking _ was a 4( _ Yes _ ) and heavier pain  _ (Flogging, Asphyxiation) _ was labelled 3 ( _ Maybe _ ). Sherlock was not sure what to think about that.

Things that didn’t instil anything within him, like  _ Cross Dressing _ were labelled 2 ( _ Soft Limit _ ), some other paraphilias he couldn’t understand at all, like  _ Vampirism _ , were a 1 ( _ Limit _ ).

Everything simply unthinkable like  _ Genital Torture _ ,  _ Body Modification _ or  _ Scatophilia _ were a solid 0.

The shower had stopped and Sherlock was still sitting, eyes fixed on his sheet.

He could feel his mind fog, and he was trembling. This, all of this, was not  _ normal _ . How could he have passed that much time on this Earth and never made himself aware that he was that much of a weirdo ? 

So much for the only Consulting Detective in the world ! Ha !

 

“Are you okay ?”

“I don’t know.”

 

John sat beside him. He took the sheet but Sherlock’s eyes stood fixated on the wooden table.

 

“Everything is filled properly. What’s the matter then Sherlock ?”

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth and squeezed his fists. 

 

“I don’t even know why we’re doing this experiment. It seems pretty clear already that I am a freak.”

“Sherlo-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me this is not true. Even _ I  _ know people don’t usually like these things. I am a freak John.”

 

There was a heavy silence in the kitchen, only interrupted by the ticking of the old clock.

 

“Have I ever told you of that woman who came into surgery one day ? She had stuff up her butt.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth gaped.

 

“No, really. She came, limping and wincing and told us straight on ‘ _ I have stuffed things up my arse, and I can’t get them out _ ’. I was stunned really. Not that no one had ever came to my practise with things in their anuses - it is a pretty common occurrence -, but she wasn’t ashamed. She felt silly for she couldn’t remove the objects, but as she said ‘ _ I like what I like, doc _ ’. And she did, and didn’t care what I could be thinking.”

 

Sherlock still didn’t speak. John put the sheet on the table and got up to start the kettle. 

 

“What I want to say is, you like what you like. You even know what you like without having ever done them, and that’s impressive if you ask me. There is only one thing you should acknowledge : are you being Safe, Sane and Consensual ?”

“I am not stupid John, I know about SSC, even RACK”

“Never said you were stupid Sherlock, god forbid, but are you ?”

 

Sherlock bit his lip and answered after a moment, while John put a cup of tea with two sugars and a saucer in front of him. 

 

“It is Safe for I am with you, and I trust you with my life. Also my safeword shall be Hypothesis,” said Sherlock, his voice low “ it is Sane, I haven’t used nor drunk and I don’t intend to. It is Consensual on my part. I love you.”

 

There was the sound of a teacup hitting the table and suddenly John was up, grabbing a cloth to wipe the puddle of tea.

 

“How clumsy you are, John”

“What the hell Sherlock !”

“What ?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere !”

“What stuff ? That I love you ? Well sorry, I was under the assumption that people intending to have sexual activities always prefered to know the other’s true feelings.” said Sherlock in an impossibly broken voice.

 

John stared at him for a moment. 

“Your true feelings are that you love me.” he clarified.

 

Sherlock nodded. John bit his lip and dropped the cloth.

He went around the table and grabbed Sherlock’s face with his two hands. 

 

“If you don’t want this, back off now.”

 

And he kissed him. Sherlock’s eyes were wide open and he heard himself letting out a small ‘ _ humpfh _ ’ of surprise. John’s lips were against his own, his breath was caressing his face, his hands, warm and soft doctors hands, were on his face. A new fog was invading Sherlock’s mind, one that felt infinitely better than the last.

Too soon, John stood back.

 

“ _ More _ ” uttered Sherlock.

 

John smiled warmly and went for his mouth a second time, slower, wetter. Sherlock felt stupid, sitting there, his long awkward limbs trying to settle around John’s body, his usually sharp tongue feeling out of place.

With one last peck, John stood back again.

 

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

 

The heat that was prickling in his chest and belly exploded and he felt his eyes warming, as if he was going to cry.

 

“How… How stupid this is” he managed to say.

“What is ?”

“That I haven’t told you, until now. I couldn’t deduce if you loved me back.”

“Why is that ?”

“I could see, but apparently I could not observe.”

John giggled as he poured himself another tea.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think ?  
> Next piece should be up by the end of the month !  
> Don't hesitate to make suggesions !


End file.
